MOBY-DICK – Revenge and Redemption – A Filmscript - 1. Part 1 – Spouter Inn

 

The Secret Melville [05]

 

MOBY-DICK

Revenge and Redemption

Film Script

 

 

"Men should be either treated generously,

or destroyed,

because they take revenge for slight injuries –

all for the heavy ones they cannot."

Niccolo Machiavelli

 

"Do not take revenge, dear friends,

but leave room for God's wrath.

For it is written,

'Vengeance is Mine,' saith the Lord,

' I will pay them back."

Romans 12:19

 

"Hell is yourself and the only redemption is when

a person puts himself aside to feel deeply for another."

Tennessee Williams

 

“So will it be with the resurrection of the dead.

The body that is sown is perishable –

But, it is raised incorruptible;

it is sown in dishonor –

But, it is raised in glory;

it is sown in weakness –

But, it is raised in power;

it is sown a body of the Earth –

But, it is raised a spiritual one.”

1 Corinthians, 15:42-43

 

 

---

 

 

Based upon the Novel:

 

Moby-Dick,

or, The Whale, 1851

by Herman Melville

 

 

"By its very indifference, the white whale shadows forth the heartless voids of

a universe which stabs out at us with thoughts of annihilation, and of mortality worse than death. "

After Chapter 48

 

---

 

Testimonia:

Supplied by a Sub

Sub-sub-librarian

 

"I have seen Passion and Vanity stamping the living magnanimous Earth, but She did not alter her tides and her seasons for that." Chapter 48

 

"Great works ever leave the copestone to posterity." Chapter 32

 

"Though in many of it aspects this visible world seems formed in love, the invisible spheres are formed in fright." Chapter 42

 

"For whatever is truly wondrous and fearful in man, never yet was it put into words." Chapter 110

 

"There is no folly in the beasts of the Earth which is not infinitely outdone by the madness of men." Chapter 87

 

"As every creature perpetuates his kind, misery begets its like." Chapter 99

 

 

---

 

[Part 1 – Spouter Inn – I: Yankee pride]

EXT. STREETS OF VALPARAISO, CHILE – NIGHT

Lighting reveals a hilly port town through a slanting rain. The buildings are tall, in various pastel colors, and cluster on hills that face the sea. Thunder RUMBLES low and menacing. Over the slick cobblestones, a dark robed and hooded figure moves. As he wends his way uphill, and through the section of town that caters to sailors, lightning reveals he is looking for something: up to signs on buildings that sway and creak. All are in Spanish, and below one that says: ”La Trampa”, a red light burns. Female prostitutes loiter by the open door. Thunder RUMBLES, and the figure deftly moves out of their ogles and grasping hands. We cannot see his face, but finally he stops and looks up at an old sign. Fulmination illuminates a breaching whale and bushy jet of spray from its blowhole. The establishment’s name is painted below the creature: “Ye Spouter Inn, Peter Coffin, Prop.” A lantern above the door burns a soft-but-decided lavender.

 

INT. “THE SPOUTER INN”, FRONT HALL – NIGHT

PETER sits alone working behind his long front desk, which is built into the wall as a niche. Lightning flashes. In a moment, the bell from the front door CHIMES, and thunder ROLLS. Peter barely notices the cowled figure standing before his workstation.

 

PETER

(in SPANISH, with subtitles)

We have no available lodgings, sir.

 

No response. Peter looks up critically.

 

PETER (CONT’D)

(in SPANISH, with subtitles)

Can I help you…

(in ENGLISH)

…Your name, señor?

 

Lightning flashes. REDBURN pulls back his hood.

 

REDBURN

Call me, Ishmael.

 

Thunder BOOMS.

 

PETER

Ah, sir – forgive me. American?

 

REDBURN

Aye…I was told to come here…

(looks over his shoulder)

…By…a particular friend.

 

Redburn holds Coffin’s gaze with a faint smile.

 

PETER

(warms up)

Why, yes. When in Valparaiso, stay at The Spouter. We all know that: bit a Yankee pride on Chilean soil!

 

Peter watches Redburn extract a carpetbag from beneath the protection of his cape. ^[1] Lighting flashes. He grows concerned; opens the flap of his desk and comes out. Thunder BOOMS.

 

PETER (CONT’D)

Ah lad, you are looking for accommodations…I…

 

Peter holds up his hands and shuffles his feet down the hall.

 

PETER (CONT’D)

…I’ll ‘ave to check with Sal.

 

Peter darts through a pair of open double doors in the center of the long wall to Redburn’s right. Outside while the lightning flashes and thunder ROLLS become more distant, Redburn contemplates his environment. The hall is about twelve feet wide, and thirty feet long. A four-foot-high wainscot is paneled in grizzled and weather-beaten bulwarks from a condemned ship. The walls above are hung with a mélange of Polynesian war implements (clubs, maces, javelins – many with shark teeth at the ‘business end’, and many braided with human hair cords). ^[2] There are also rusted and deformed whaling weapons. Some harpoons have blood-red smears of rust on the tips, and some are bent and corkscrewed. All are displayed like gruesome war trophies. As Redburn walks away from Peter’s desk, he begins to perceive muted seamen CONSERVATION. Off to his right, as he passes, he looks into the spacious taproom. Here small tables are half-filled with SAILORS in groups of two or three – mostly one older man with one or two fresh-faced lads – who sit, smoke, chat, and glare at Redburn’s passing. He hears Peter’s voice. And sees him standing at the grill of the enclosed bar section at the far end. Peter talks with a handsome middle-aged Latin man on the other side of the counter. As Redburn moves on in the hall, his eyes fall on an eight-foot-long wooden Windsor bench. This is centered opposite the taproom entry. The bench is uncomfortable to look at, much less rest upon. As lightning flashes again, Redburn’s attention is taken by a sooty painting at the narrow end of the hall. ^[3] As he goes up to it, thunder peals with a low but intense RUMBLE. The sailor pauses only inches away, squinting to make out details. More lightning, and he can discern the masts and tattered rigging of a ship listing precariously to starboard. All around it, a tempestuous sea swirls; a hurricane is a menacing mass of black clouds and lighting off to one side of the background. As thunder ROLLS, Redburn peeks in closer. He sees the ship is tilting because it is being stove by a massive whale. ^[4]

 

[Part 1 – II: Opening Credits]

FADE IN: TITLE CARD: ”The Secret Melville, MOBY-DICK, Revenge and Redemption”

While credits roll, the MUSIC introduces the ‘Doxology’ theme under a slow pan and series of close up details from the painting. ^[5] Finally, the shots linger on the men in the water; the drowning and dead are seen in prophetic silence.

 

[Part 1 – III: Any Decent Man]

Peter comes up behind Redburn and clears his throat.

 

PETER

We’re full, lad. There’s not a bed unoccupied, including our own, but avast…

 

Peter mercurially taps his own forehead, suppressing a crafty grin.

 

PETER (CONT’D)

…You hain’t no objections to sharing a ‘Harpooner’s’ blanket, ‘ave ye? Coming off a whaler, I suppose you’re used to that sort of thing.

 

REDBURN

(blinks: smiles)

Depends on who the owner of the ‘harpoon’ might be, but I’ll put up with half of any decent man’s blanket.

 

PETER

I thought as much. Well, he’ll be along shortly, in the meantime…

 

Peter disrobes Redburn’s cowl, and guides him by the shoulder to the taproom.

 

PETER (CONT’D)

…take a seat. Supper? – You’ll be wanting supper. I’ll serve you directly.

 

At the doorway, Peter stops him from going in.

 

PETER (CONT’D)

You know, Ishmael, lad, you ‘ave some sort of heathenish look about ye. Been out long?

 

REDBURN

Aye. Three years.

 

PETER

Going home?

 

REDBURN

No. Going back out.

(to Peter’s amazed look)

Not ready for armchair and pipe; not yet.

 

Peter laughs and gently pushes Redburn into the taproom.

 

INT. TAPROOM

The room is about twenty feet wide by thirty feet long. REDBURN glances up to the moody box beams ribbing the ceiling. Opposite the doorway is a large New England style paneled fireplace and mantle, painted in a worn light blue. On it are displayed an array of scrimshaw whale teeth. In the corner to his right is the caged bar area. The grilled flap is open, and SAL stands before shelves packed with bottles of rum and Pisco. Redburn walks to and sits at an empty table near the fire. As he is dropping his bag on the floor, he catches the eye of a young red-haired sailor regarding him. Redburn smiles and nods at FLASK, who blushes and looks to the older companion at his own table. Suddenly the sedate atmosphere is broken. The bell on the front door RINGS roughly and is immediately followed by the VOICES of rowdy men. The door CLOSES and loud FOOT STOMPS come towards the taproom. Half a dozen tipsy SAILORS enter. In their center is a non-drunk and good-looking man. As a Quaker in the prime of life, he has a self-centered, plain confidence marking him as special amongst a crowd. ^[6]

The party leads him to the bar. Redburn hears the man’s name fawned on by several of his friends: ”Starbuck.” As the others press close to the bar, STARBUCK turns to look at an ashen Flask, then into Redburn’s frank gaze; Starbuck nods at him, and now it’s Redburn’s turn to feel abashed. PETER strides over with a steaming pewter plate held by a dishtowel. In his other hand is a small sauceboat, a napkin and cutlery. As he sets the food down, he catches Redburn cruising Starbuck. Redburn regards his supper with amazement: three thick slices of roast pork, boiled new potatoes, and spoon-sized dumplings with butter and parsley. The sauceboat is full or dark brown gravy.

 

PETER

(eying Starbuck himself)

Going back out, are ye?

 

REDBURN

(distracted)

Aye.

 

Redburn picks up his napkin, then the knife and fork. He gestures with the blade.

 

REDBURN (CONT’D)

Landlord – that ain’t the harpooner, is it?

 

PETER

(raising mirthful eyebrows)

Oh, no. The harpooner’s a somber-complected chap.

 

REDBURN

(digging into a dumpling)

And where is this junior officer bedfellow

of mine?

 

PETER

(moving away)

He’ll be here, aforelong!

 

Redburn eats and goes back to contemplating Starbuck. This man shines, and yet seems to carry around his own hell. His mates love him, but he seems all the more alone because of it. He catches Flask’s eye one more time.

 

[Part 1 – IV: On the Bench]

INT. FRONT HALL – NIGHT – LATER

REDBURN sets his bag on the bench; sits. The parties are over now, and he watches several sailor pairs drift from the taproom and go to the door next to the whale painting. He can hear tired FOOTSTEPS climbing stairs. He turns to look at the grandfather’s clock in the corner by the front door. It says 10:40. As his sight drifts back, he catches PETER’s eye at his desk.

 

PETER

Ishmael! Lad, I’ll take you up to bed. No need waiting up for your harpooner.

 

REDBURN

I thought I should at least get a look at the man – before jumping in the sack with him.

 

PETER

(chuckles)

Suit yourself.

 

[Part 1 – V: Quick-Change]

EXT. DOCKS AT VALPARAISO – MORNING

Three ships berth side-by-side flying the Stars and Stripes.

 

FADE IN: TIME CARD: “Two Weeks Later”

Sea birds fly and CRY; SPANISH is heard; STEVEDORES rush about; cranes work loading and unloading barrels. REDBURN comes walking along, shading his eyes, and looking up into the rigging of the first ship.

 

EXT. DOCKS AT VALPARAISO – NOON

REDBURN walks down the gangplank of the first ship. He heads to the second. The action on the wharf is notably quieter.

 

EXT. THE PEQUOD – LATE AFTERNOON

A siesta stillness has fallen on the docks. REDBURN looks up and reads the name on the third ship: ”Pequod”. He can see whale ivory inlaid in the exterior of the bulwarks, and a single row of teeth set upright all along the gunwales – like half a grin from some glinting whale jaw. Above this, clean rigging and shrouds stand out in contrast to the other two vessels.

 

EXT. MAIN DECK OF THE PEQUOD

No one’s around. REDBURN walks forward and sees the ship’s deadeye tackle and belying pins are all made of whale ivory. He is drawn to a teepee of sorts erected between the main- and fore masts. This is made of an external stand of whale ribs with canvas tied to it from the inside. One flap is open. He steps up and calls in.

 

REDBURN

Is this the Captain of the Pequod?

 

STUBBS, a forty-year-old bearded man, comes out with veiled hostility. He takes the small black pipe from his mouth and waves it about.

 

STUBBS

Supposin’ it be the Captain of the Pequod, what do ye want with him? – A creditor?

 

REDBURN

Oh, no, sir. I’m looking for a vessel to ship on.

 

Stubbs looks disgusted. The pipe gets stowed in his hatband.

 

STUBBS

Lad, this here vassal is not bound for home. We restock, convert some oil into Chilean gold, and fly back out to the killing grounds!

 

REDBURN

Aye, sir, I know, and I’ve heard the Pequod out of Nantucket is the finest ship sailing the line.

 

Stubbs stands akimbo; knocks his hat brim back.

 

REDBURN (CONT’D)

I’ve come off of three-years’ service on various whalers, sir, and I’m not ready to retire to farm and fireplace. At least, not yet, sir.

 

STUBBS

Well, lad – and what do they call ye?

 

REDBURN

Ishmael.

 

STUBBS

Um, unfortunate name that – outcast; reject; fatherless – but never mind. I suppose it was your parents’ choosing and not yours.

 

REDBURN

(suppresses a smile)

You need men?

 

Stubbs walks around him; closely inspecting.

 

STUBBS

You look a little suspicious, don’t ye? Eh? – Hast been a pirate; murdered thy last Captain, eh? Will you not fancy to murder the Pequod’s officers once we get out to sea?

 

REDBURN

You mistake me, sir. I’d never do such

a thing.

 

Stubbs comes to stand uncomfortably close to Redburn’s face. He sneers with odd mirth.

 

STUBBS

Have ye not clapped eyes on Captain Ahab?

 

REDBURN

(confused)

Are you not the…. Who is Captain Ahab, sir?

 

STUBBS

Ahab, lad, is the warning and entreaty to what whaling is, for he pings the decks with one fleshen foot, and one ivory peg.

 

REDBURN

What do you mean – one was lost to a whale?

 

STUBBS

Lost?! Boy, taken! Devoured; chewed off; crunched by the most monstrous sperm whale that ever flipped a boat!

 

REDBURN

And, who are you, sir?

 

STUBBS

Stubbs, Second Mate. Look, young man, consider well what ye may sign your name to. Some men, like the cold elements of water and wind, rebel against Nature Herself – I mean fire, lad – so too with some missions that rot the mind from within.

 

Stubbs goes to the bulwarks; gestures to barrels on the wharf.

 

STUBBS (CONT’D)

See them? Our stock of oil; nearly full and bound for a Chilean warehouse. We left cold New England climes to bring a shipload of oil to light that dark part of the world. So what do we unloading it in sunny Valparaiso?

(dismissive)

To go back out?

 

Leans in close to Redburn again.

 

STUBBS (CONT’D)

Hubris, lad. A Fate-daring willfulness to laugh Nature in Her pearly white, spiky teeth. Aye – see for yourself our Captain Ahab afore you decide to ship with us.

 

They are interrupted by STARBUCK. Redburn is slack-jawed to see the handsome ‘hero’ from “The Spouter Inn.”

 

STARBUCK

Stubbs, what do you there?

 

STUBBS

This nug wants to sign up, though his lungs are sort of soft…

(goes limp wrist)

…And he don’t talk shark a bit.

 

Stubbs wanders away with a slow, silent warning for Redburn.

 

STARBUCK

Killed whales before?

 

REDBURN

Aye, sir, many. On the Arcturion; the Julia; the Dolly.

 

STARBUCK

We’re not going home—

 

REDBURN

I wish to stay in the South Pacific a

while longer.

 

STARBUCK

Looking for something – some, one?

 

REDBURN

(abashes; changes subject)

I have a companion who wishes to ship with me, sir.

 

STARBUCK

Has he whaled before?

 

REDBURN

(grins)

He’s killed more whales than he can count.

 

STARBUCK

Fetch him along; we’ll take a look at him.

 

REDBURN

But….

 

STARBUCK

Starbuck, First Mate.

 

REDBURN

But, Mr. Starbuck, sir – where is Captain Ahab to be found?

 

STARBUCK

(hackles raised)

And what does thou want with Ahab? It’s all right – you are shipped.

 

REDBURN

Yes, but, I’d like to see him.

 

STARBUCK

Would like, but you will not, at present. He keeps closed-up inside the cabin; a sort of sick, though he don’t look it. In fact, he ain’t sick; but no, he isn’t well either. Anyway now, young man, he won’t always see his first officer, so I don’t suppose he will be seeing you. Oh, but you will like him well enough, no fear. He’s a grand, ungodly, god-like man – at home in colleges and amongst cannibals; one used to pondering deeper wonders than the deep, and charging his lance at more devilish things than whales; for Ahab of old, boy, was a crowned king.

 

REDBURN

An evil one; a god-forsaken one that not even the dogs would lap up his un-holy blood from the streets after his murder.

 

Starbuck takes him by the shoulders with overly concerned sincerity. He begins to lead him aft.

 

STARBUCK

Look, ye, lad; never say that on board the Pequod. Never say that anywhere. Captain Ahab, like the rest of us, did not have the naming of himself. Some would say only God monikers us, but ever since he lost his leg last voyage to that accursèd whale – well, his moods have grown more desperate; savage sometimes – but it’s better to sail with a moody good captain than with a stoic bad one.

 

Starbuck pauses; he has brought Redburn to the gangplank.

 

STARBUCK (CONT’D)

Bring your mate by, and we can get a good look at him.

 

EXT. DOCKS AT VALPARAISO – TWILIGHT – LATER

During the following voiceover – as REDBURN walks away from the Pequod – a cloud seems to roll over it. A glance up, and the formerly bright whale teeth now take on a menacing pall. Near the end, thunder begins to ROLL in slow and far-away-sounding echoes. These increase in volume and lead into the next scene.

 

REDBURN (V.O.)

I assured myself that the Second Mate’s fashion of ragging upon the old sailor Captain was nothing but a humbug – that Stubbs, nothing but a bugbear. Yet, thinking how quickly my life had changed, how new the feeling of surrender to fate, and of the voyage that I had bound us to take, left me with nothing but the thoughts of a hundred shadowy things – like the half-shrouded hints and talk of Ahab’s lost leg.

 

DISSOLVE TO:

 

A closeup of a sleeping face.

 

[Part 1 – VI: The Light]

INT. “THE SPOUTER INN”, FRONT HALL – NIGHT

Thunder PEALS, and REDBURN starts from a nap. He reclines uncomfortably on the bench with his bag as a pillow. He angrily punches the valise to will it into being softer. He glances over. PETER is working at his desk. SAL comes from the taproom drying his hands on a dishtowel, and goes up to the desk. Redburn’s eyes continue on to the clock: 12:02.

 

SAL

(to Peter)

Take him up.

 

PETER

He…

(to Redburn)

…Lad, I’ll take you up. No need waiting for your bedmate. He’s anchored somewhere else for the night.

 

Redburn sits up, stretches, and suppresses a yawn.

 

REDBURN

I’d have thought any ‘decent’ harpooner ought to be home and heading bedward by this hour.

 

PETER

(chuckles)

Well, he pays reg’lar. But, come on. You better be turning flukes – it’s a nice bed: Sal and me…

(gestures to him)

…Slept in that bed when we were first spliced, and believe me, there’s plenty of room for two to kick about in that old bed.

(winks)

She’s sturdy too.

 

Peter gestures for Sal to get lamps.

 

PETER (CONT’D)

Come along now – it’s an almighty big bed. I’ll give you a glim in a jiffy.

 

Peter and Sal light two glass whale oil lamps. He lifts the desk lid and Peter takes both lights to where Redburn still sits.

 

PETER (CONT’D)

I vow, it’s already Sunday! You won’t see that spearman tonight.

 

Peter moves towards the painting, gets to the stair door, and turns peevishly on the still-sitting Redburn.

 

PETER (CONT’D)

Come along, then – do come along, won’t ye? Sal and me want to turn in too.

 

Redburn glances at Sal, stands, grabs his carpetbag and sighs. He follows the light.

 

INT. STAIR HALL

The steps are dark, except as cut by the lamp in PETER’s hand. He leads the way up the twisting stairs, and REDBURN follows with his own lamp.

 

INT. QUEEQUEG’S ROOM

All is still and dark. The door creaks open. Behind it is REDBURN with his light; behind him, PETER and his light. The men step in. The room is sparse – a window, a dresser with a tabletop shaving mirror, a queen-size bed, and Queequeg’s tidy possessions. ^[7] Redburn thinks about leaving.

 

PETER

As I say – a bed big enough for four harpooners!

(laughs)

So – now, I’ll bid good night to ye.

 

Peter closes the door behind him. Alone, Redburn sets the lamp on the platform of the dressing mirror, and looks around. In one corner a duffel bag is propped up with sea clothes spilling out from the top. Leaning on the wall next to the bed is a well-honed harpoon. Redburn searches, shrugs and stows his carpetbag under the bed. He pats the pockets of his monkey jacket, and pulls out his picture of Toby wrapped in Toby’s yellow bandana. He reverentially opens the bundle, and brings the case to his lips. Eyes closed, he kisses it with lingering pause. He sets it open by the lamp, shoves the bandana in his pocket, and has his attention drawn to something on the dresser. It is neatly folded. He picks it up, and it falls open. It is a Polynesian handicraft: a black leather poncho decorated with quillwork-like embroidery in bright colors; it’s jet furry on the inside. Redburn lifts it, smells it, rubs the softer-than-kid leather on his cheek, and puts it on. He admires himself in the mirror.

 

REDBURN

(to himself)

Aye – I know what this is. It’s made from a sperm whale’s penis. I’ve seen these before—

 

Redburn hears a CREAK, starts, and quickly takes off the poncho. There is no more noise, so he neatly refolds and puts the poncho back as it was. He picks up the lamp and goes to the bed. Putting it down on the candlestand, he pulls back the bedspread, blanket and sheets. The bed is neat and clean. Now he undresses down to his drawers. He folds his clothes, looks around for a place, shrugs and stows them under the bed. Redburn climbs in and extinguishes the lamp.

 

[Part 1 – VII: Strange Bedfellows]

INT. “THE SPOUTER INN”, QUEEQUEG’S ROOM – NIGHT

A shot through the window shows the storm has passed. A full moon pierces wispy clouds and quietly illuminates the room. As REDBURN sleeps soundly, a slow shot drifts onto his face. He awakes with a start. FOOTFALLS are heard in the hallway. The door opens with slow deliberation, and in the moonlight, QUEEQUEG, wearing his top hat, and without a light, ducks into his room as to not wake Peter and Sal next door. As Queequeg softly closes the door, Redburn peeks at him over the drawn-up bedspread. Queequeg is tall and built! He is Polynesian, and muscles ripple beneath his light-weight linen shirt. He has beautifully masculine tattoos accenting the undulations of his form, including his face. ^[8] Queequeg takes off his immaculately white top hat and sets it atop the poncho. ^[9] Redburn now sees the man has an abundant central topknot, which is looped over once and rides the rear portion of his crown, while the sides of his head are cleanshaven. Queequeg then goes to his bag and fumbles in it. He pulls out a Native American tomahawk pipe with a steel blade, a white sealskin tobacco pouch and a small bundle. Back at the dresser, Queequeg undoes the bundle, and Redburn can see it contains a small Polynesian figure. Queequeg positions it in a place of honor in front of the mirror. He lays something before the holy tiki – half a sea biscuit. He chants something softly and offers the food. After his prayers, he begins to entirely undress. Redburn is taken with the man’s brawn as burnished in the moonlight. Redburn opens his mouth to speak, but is speechless in the face of Queequeg’s physical beauty. Queequeg grabs his pouch and tomahawk and jumps into bed. Redburn squeals as their flesh touches.

 

QUEEQUEG

(in SPANISH, with subtitles)

Who the devil are you?!

(Redburn gulps audibly; Queequeg grows loud)

Speak – or I’ll dispatch you on the spot.

 

Somewhere in the hall, a door OPENS. Redburn jumps up. Queequeg latches onto an ankle. Redburn shouts with growing panic.

 

REDBURN

Landlord! Peter Coffin; Sal! For God’s sake.

 

The door opens. PETER comes in with a lit lamp. Redburn stumbles off the foot of the bed before him, panting. Queequeg leans in complete repose in bed, his back against the headboard. He begins to fill his pipe.

 

PETER

Don’t be afraid, now. Queequeg wouldn’t harm a hair on your head.

 

REDBURN

Why didn’t you tell me he was…Polynesian?

 

PETER

(matter of fact)

I didn’t know it mattered.

 

REDBURN

(to Queequeg – in POLYNESIAN, with subtitles)

You scared me!

 

QUEEQUEG

(in POLYNESIAN, with subtitles)

And why were you in my bed?

 

PETER

(to Queequeg)

You sabe me? I sabe you. This boy sleeps here, with you tonight.

(points to the bed)

All right?

 

Queequeg narrows his eyes, tosses back the bedclothes and walks up to the men in his glorious nakedness. He puts the pipe in his mouth, appraises Redburn, and pulls Peter’s light to him. After a couple of puffs, he reappraises Redburn, and resumes his position in bed.

 

QUEEQUEG

(condescending to Peter)

I sabe plenty.

(to Redburn – in POLYNESIAN, with subtitles)

Well, get in. Don’t get cold.

(he waves his lit tomahawk – in ENGLISH)

Come to bed, if you’re comin’

 

Redburn looks to Peter.

 

PETER

What’s all the fuss? That man’s a human being just as you are – if history’s a guide, he has more reason to fear you than you him. Better to sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunk Christian, I always say.

 

Redburn again eyes Queequeg. Queequeg purses his lips and scooches over a little to make room. He motions with his lit weapon. Redburn cautiously climbs into bed from the foot, and nestles under the sheets close to the wall. The two sit side-by-side against the headboard. Queequeg turns to him.

 

QUEEQUEG

Smoke?

 

Redburn is not amused. Peter slowly closes the door, and as the light fades, they hear a laughing voice from the hall.

 

PETER (O.S.)

Night boys; don’t do anything I wouldn’t do….

 

 

_